


Most Of All (I Miss You)

by Solanaceae



Series: Femslash Friday [7]
Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/F, Femslash Friday
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-11
Updated: 2013-10-11
Packaged: 2017-12-29 01:50:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,425
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/999445
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Solanaceae/pseuds/Solanaceae
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amarië waits in Valinor for the return of her love.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Most Of All (I Miss You)

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the[30 Days of Femslash](http://silmladylove.tumblr.com/post/61630822803/30-days-of-femslash)meme on tumblr
> 
> 7\. Write something about coming home.

When Amarië finally returned to the city she was born in, she found the streets of Tirion were far quieter now than she remembered them ever having been before. She walked through it without once encountering another living soul, footsteps echoing off the bone-white cobblestones, the sparkling roofs above lit only by the cold, silver light of the Mindon Eldaliéva, and beyond that a dome of stars unshrouded by gold or silver.

(They were beautiful, those stars, and she thought that finally she understood the drive the others had felt, to leave, to _explore_ and see those lights beyond. Understood, when it was too late to do anything about it.)

There was no one to protest when she took up residence in the first abandoned house she found. The family had fled into exile (though they would have called it a new life, and the _right thing_ ), leaving the door unlocked, and there was a clear inch of dust over every surface. She threw open every window, pale light illuminating her footprints in the dust, her shadow an insubstantial flicker behind her.

She never got used to the silence.

 _You used to sing_ , she found herself thinking, the words tinged with grey sadness, and she realized she couldn't even remember what songs those had been, what golden notes had fallen into the light-drenched air. She thought she should remember, and that bothered her the most.

Word filtered back through those who were left, whispers borne on the wind, and she wondered if there was truth there, in the tidings of her love - _kinslaying. The burning of the ships. Helcaraxë._

She wondered if she had been a coward for not leaving the city with the Noldor, not following her love across the Sea. But she had been afraid, and still was.

_And you were never afraid, were you?_

When she closed her eyes, sometimes she could feel remembered warmth pressing on them, the light of Laurelin glinting off golden hair, pale fingers entwined in hers, laughing star-blue eyes. Those eyes hurt, and all the more for that they were lost to her (forever?), but she couldn't tear her gaze away. Not then, and never now.

She dreamt of a glow on the horizon, and salt wind mingling with ash, and tasted despair on her lips. The wind was cold, the stars distant - and then mist, veiling all.

The empty house ached to be filled with voices, with footsteps, and she could not fill the void with only her own hands and words. She whispered to the shadows at night, asking them if she should have followed the rest into exile, and the shadows whispered back with silence.

_And if I had gone, where would I be now?_

_(Where are_ you _now?)_

She dreamt that she was trapped under a sheet of flat white, cold creeping into her bones and buoying her up against the unforgiving ice. Her clenched fists struck upwards, again and again, scraped knuckles spreading red through the water, until the darkness crept back in, and the last thing she felt was the cold.

(She took to wearing a cloak about the house, wrapped in her thickest robe, unable to stop shivering, though the sea breeze was warm and the house stifling.)

When the moon rose over the mountains, painting the floor with silver, drowning out the Mindon, she slammed the shutters closed, shutting out the light. In the darkness, breath coming faster, she rested her head against the curtains, biting back the sudden ache in her throat.

It was beautiful. And she hated it.

That night, she dreamed of the light of Telperion, of hot breath ghosting across her face and fingers pulling her closer, silver glinting from the eyes of her love and the prickle of grass against her bare back. She woke to find that her curtains had shifted, a thin line of moonlight creeping in and striking her covers, slipping into the folds of the fabric and caressing her legs. She shrank back, a cry rising in her throat, and hated herself for being so afraid.

_(You wouldn't have been afraid.)_

Had it been, perhaps, that she was not worthy to follow the others - had she known that, within, and had that been why her feet had not stirred when the torches burned bright outside the walls and faded on the horizon? She had been afraid, even then; there had been no place for her in the ranks of the fearless exiles. They had gone in search of something she hadn't even really believed _existed_ , and now she was alone in an echoing city filled with ghosts like herself.

She wondered if maybe she should be doing something, if simply hiding behind drawn curtains from the silver light wasn't enough.

_What would you have done?_

There were papers still strewn across the desk in the back room, diagrams and calculations in a spidery handwriting that she held to the moonlight to read, the flimsy paper a wavering barrier between herself and the silver window. She wondered whose hand had written this, what plans these were - if the author of these had not abandoned their work, what would the world be now?

(The might-have-beens frightened her most. If she had gone - if her love had stayed-)

She was in a stranger's house, using it as her own, and had been for months now. She might as well take on this stranger's role.

And further: her love would have done something - _been_ someone. She should do the same.

She waited until the moon had set, until the streets were cast in shadow once more. It was only a short walk up to the palace, and though she had never spoken to the woman now on the throne, Nerdanel's was a familiar face - and the Vanya beside her even more so.

"Amarië." Indis inclined her head, torchlight glinting golden off her hair. "So good to see you once more. Is there aught we can do for you?"

She nodded, clenching her fists in the fabric of her dress. "I wish to help," she replied, and Indis smiled.

* * *

 The sun rose, and she walked under the golden light freely, closing her eyes and tilting her head up towards the warmth. The moon still frightened her (so white, like ice), but this golden light - this was beautiful.

She walked to the palace daily now, down streets that slowly but steadily grew more crowded, more lively. There was noise in Tirion once more, and the darkness had retreated.

(She still drew her curtains at night, hating the baleful eye that watched from above, pockmarked with shadows and blotting out the stars - but when she slept, she did not dream, neither of the ice nor of her love.)

One afternoon, the setting sun painting the sky with all the colors of fire and blood, she walked the golden street with something like happiness, as though the ice had finally melted. She paused by the gate, one hand on the post, and regarded the small plot of dirt that had once been a garden, tended by whoever had once lived here. She remembered the hot scent of lilac, seeping through her windows with the moonlight, but that bush was wilted, the only remains of its blooms a windblown pile of brown petals.

There were footprints in the garden, too small for her own feet to have made.

She stepped through the gate, pace picking up. The door to her house was ajar, a slit of darkness peeking back at her. Something kept her from turning and rushing out, seeking a new hiding place, a new way to lie to herself. (Maybe it only was because there was something achingly familiar about those footprints, and she needed to know.)

She stepped into the entrance hallway cautiously. There was a light in the kitchen. She moved closer, breath hitching in her throat, cutting off any words that might have escaped.

The woman that sat at the table was thinner than she remembered, eyes a little brighter with a light like the stars (untouchable and piercing and everything she had ever wanted). She took another step forward, and the other woman smiled at her.

"Elenwë," she finally breathed, and then her hands were tangled in golden hair and Elenwë's lips were on hers and it felt like _coming home_ , it felt like all the memories she had ever had, and the shadows finally fell away.

"I'm back," her love whispered, pulling away, keeping her arms about her.

Amarië nodded. "Welcome home."


End file.
